


Get Up And Go

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey Way: Ultramarathon Runner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Up And Go

_**Runner's World: You picked up running in your 30s, is that right?** _

_Mikey Way: Yeah. After we wrapped the tour on our fourth album._

_**And what got you interested in it?** _

_I found out that the neighborhood kids thought I was a ghost._

_**What?** _

_I guess I wasn't getting outside much. I was, like, the neighborhood Boo Radley._

 

There was toothpaste on the mirror. He was brushing his teeth, and splattered toothpaste on the mirror. He made a face at his reflection, bobbed his head along with the Weezer medley blasting from his iPod in the other room, and turned to grab a washcloth from the little wicker stand thing Alicia had put under the window.

There were two small children with their faces pressed up against his window, eyes huge, mouths hanging open.

Mikey realized he had a similar look on his own face when he felt more toothpaste foam splat against his chin. "Um."

The kids screamed and ran. Mikey dropped his toothbrush in the toilet.

That's really how it started.

**

"Okay," Alicia said when she came back in from her reconnaissance mission next door. "Those were Jeffery and Steven Espera. They think you're a ghost or possibly a vampire, because you never go outside."

Mikey scowled at her. "I go outside. I walk Pig every day."

"Apparently you usually do that while they're at school." She wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him reluctantly into a hug. "I think we can agree that the important thing here is how proud your brother is going to be."

"We're not telling Gerard about this."

"You've been mistaken for a vampire. We _have_ to tell Gerard about this or he'll disown you."

"We're not telling anybody. It's not funny, Licia." He shrugged off her arms and walked over to the window.

"Okay," she said carefully, watching him. He could feel that without looking, prickles on the back of his neck where her eyes were zeroing in. "Talk it out, Mikey Way."

"I don't want to be a joke."

"You're not a joke. Well. You are to nine-year-olds. That doesn't count."

"I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin."

He could see her reflection just enough to know she'd started to frown. "Well, you were on tour, that's--"

"I don't think it's that. I've been home for like three weeks." He shrugged, resting his head against the glass. He could see Jeffrey and/or Steven running around in his own yard, yelling about something. Stupid cute kid.

"Do you think," Alicia said in that careful, measured voice that reminded him of his therapist, "that maybe you're bored?"

He turned his head enough to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "I've never been bored before. I'm doing the exact same stuff as usual."

"Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you need something new."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

Alicia was super-unhelpful sometimes. But she was also super-pretty. He stared at her chest for a minute and considered the question.

"You have the tar pits thing," he said finally.

"You hate the tar pits."

"I know. But maybe the whole going back to school thing you did would be an idea." He sounded unenthusiastic even to himself.

"You hate school."

"I know." He sighed and shrugged, turning away from the window. "So...whatever. Maybe I do just need some more time to settle in. Or maybe we could get another dog."

"Maybe." She crossed the room and kissed his forehead. "Keep thinking about it, huh? Maybe an idea will come to you."

**

The next day Mikey was supposed to go visit his brother.

He stood by his front door, holding his keys, staring out at the street. "I could walk there," he said, shifting his weight so Piglet could hold herself up by leaning on his leg. "Go outside. Get sunlight. Prove that I'm non-vampirical."

Piglet sneezed.

"I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna walk there instead of driving." He put the keys down and went to find his sneakers. Actual good supportive athletic-bullshit sneakers, which Gerard had made him buy during the whole pre-tour gym-going phase. He laced them up carefully and stood there for a minute, looking at his feet.

Piglet put her paw on his knee and huffed at him.

"This is LA," he told her. "It's entirely possible that walking there might kill me."

She didn't look too worried, so he scritched behind her ears, told her to be good, and left the house.

Half a block out of his driveway, he realized that all of the other people on the sidewalks were not walking. They were jogging. Jogging was the thing, and him wandering along with his hands in his pockets was profoundly out of place. They were looking at him like he was weird.

So he picked up a shuffling semi-run for the next three blocks. His knees hurt like a son of a bitch when he stopped, but the thing where his pulse was racing and his blood was sliding hot and fast under his skin--that was a lot like being on stage. Same adrenaline rush. That was kind of cool.

Gerard didn't seem to notice that he was sweating, and Mikey didn't offer any commentary, just got a glass of water from the sink while Bandit finished her juice. Then they all went back to the studio for art time, and he tucked the whole jogging thing away in the back of his head along with Alicia's suggestion, and the list of sushi places he hadn't tried out yet, and suggestions for what to name Frank's next kid. He could really only concentrate on one thing at a time.

 

_**MTV.com: What do you like about running?** _

_Mikey Way: It's solitary. Solo. Just me and my body and what it can do. The opposite of being in a band. I love my band and I wouldn't give it up for anything, but this other side of me wants to do stuff itself, and it gets the running._

_**So it's about balance.** _

_Yeah. And, you know, running is a bass line._

_**It is?** _

_Oh yeah. Your breath, your heartbeat, your footsteps. It's all rhythm. Managing the rhythm._

 

Gerard looked confused. "You're going to do what?"

"Train for a marathon." Mikey frowned down at his bass. "I gotta stop letting Bandit play with this."

"Did she break it?"

"No, it just, like...doesn't want to tune." Mikey fussed with it a bit more and carefully set it aside. "But anyway. Yeah. Marathon."

"That's, like...a really long run, Mikes."

"Twenty-six point two miles."

"Of _running_."

"Yes."

"You don't run."

"I do now. It's a new thing I've been doing. A little."

Gerard stared at him over the tops of his glasses. Speaking of new shticks that were being tried out: Gerard in reading glasses. Mikey had a list of ways to give him shit that he needed to dust off and start practicing. "You've been _running_?"

"Yes. That's three times. I'm not repeating it again."

"But you run like a duck."

"I do not run like a..." Actually, that was nicer than what the guy at the running store had said. "I had a guy at the running store coach me on form when I bought shoes. He was really helpful."

"A girl at the gym told me you've gotta lift your knees. Who knew, right?" Gerard frowned and poked himself in the side. "I should go back to the gym."

"You should go on walks with your kid."

"Walks are a reward for good behavior. They will start up again when the biting stops."

Mikey frowned. "She's still biting? You or the kids at school?"

"School. She bit her teacher last week. It's...a thing, I don't know, Linds is pissed."

"I recommend a shock collar." Mikey grabbed Gerard's notebook from the table. "So tell me about these songs."

"First I want to hear more about your marathon plan."

Mikey sighed and flipped rapidly through the proto-songs. "Alicia bought me a book."

"Marathon Running for Dummies?"

Mikey looked at him over the top of the notebook. "Yes, actually. Do you want to fight about it?"

"Nope." Gerard grinned and leaned back in his chair. "You won't make it past three miles, man."

"You want to make that a bet?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I bet you the forfeit of your choice that you'll give up before you're consistently running three miles."

"It is motherfucking on, dickweed. And you're going to have to call a song 'My Gothy Days Went Down In A Hail Of Bullets And Tears.'"

"Whatever, you're going to have to do the stage patter for a whole show."

"Deal." They fist-bumped on it and Mikey waved the notebook at Gerard again. "Now walk me through this."

 

_**AP.net: So what's on your running playlist?** _

_Mikey Way: A lot of Katy Perry. A lot of Ke$ha._

_**You're kidding, right?** _

_Why would I be kidding? Oh, and stuff from our last album._

**You run to stuff from your own band?**

_It's got a good beat. And I find Gerard's voice really inspiring._

 

"Mikey, what is up with all this pop shit?" Frank scrolled through Mikey's iPod again and Mikey rolled his eyes, then gasped a little as Alicia moved the bags of ice on his shins. 

"Careful, Licia."

"I'm just making sure you get full coverage."

"You're making my balls retreat all the way up into my kidneys." Mikey grabbed at his iPod, but Frank twisted away, shielding it against his chest.

"Your grasp of anatomy is as bad as your taste in music, dude." Frank tapped at the screen and shook his head. "I can make you a mix of some halfway decent metal and hardcore, okay? Old-school Jersey punk. It'll get your heartrate up a lot better than--do you have 'Womanizer' on here three times?"

"I don't want hardcore and punk on my running list. It's distracting. Pop I can just kind of...let it wash over me."

"Leave him alone, Frankie." Alicia taped the icebags in place and kissed Mikey's kneecap. "He's got a setup that works for him."

"He's got a _terrible_ setup."

"Go away now." Alicia sat down next to Mikey on the couch, leaning against his shoulder. "How do you feel?"

"Shin splints-y."

"Gotta take a couple days off and rest." She brushed his hair back, fingers lingering against his forehead. 

He shifted his weight back and forth, testing the security of the tape. "I can go to the gym and use the bike. Or the elliptical. It's cool. Just no impact for a few days."

"Or you can stay home and rest."

"I don't want to get behind." He closed his eyes as her fingers traced his eyebrows, hesitating at the top of each arch. "Licia?"

"I'm the one who told you to find a hobby."

"Yeah."

"So I feel kind of hypocritical asking if you're sure you're not getting a little carried away with this."

"I'm committed to a goal. I thought that was a good thing."

"It is. Yes. But it's a goal that's kind of putting your body through the wringer. You're not as young as you used to be, babe."

"I'm fine." He caught her hand, threading their fingers together, his eyes still closed until he felt her lips brush his cheek. "I don't want to just sit around and watch everybody else work this time."

"You never do that."

"This isn't the part of the process that needs a lot of me." He shrugged. "It's cool. Just. I want something to do while I'm waiting. Between albums Frank makes babies and Gerard guests on shit and I play video games, but I've played every video game known to human kind and I want to do something else."

"So you're running."

"So I'm running." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and smiled, matching her own. "And learning about shin splints."

"I'm going to get you some calcium supplements, old man." She leaned in and kissed him softly. "Maybe glucosamine, too."

"I don't know what that is." 

"The stuff we give Piglet."

"Oh. She doesn't like it, though."

"You will."

Anybody else, he might have asked if that was a threat. But it's Alicia, so he knew it was.

 

_**Kerrang!: Your first marathon, you also ran for charity, is that right?** _

_Mikey Way: Sort of, yes._

_**Sort of?** _

_Well, I asked our fans to make donations to the La Brea Tar Pits archeological fund thing my wife works with. But, like. It wasn't very organized or anything. It was kind of a last-minute blog post with a link and a hey, donate here if you want, that would be cool, I'm running 26.2 miles and if I finish I'll post a special thank-you video._

 

Mikey glared at Frank over the table. "I don't understand why you won't just do it."

"If you want to get the fans to do something for you, Mikey, you need to ask them yourself."

"You make all the blog posts for us."

"Yes, because you're all a bunch of chickenshits who are afraid of our fans, but while I'm willing to put myself out there for band shit, I am not doing it for your personal fundraising efforts."

"It's not personal." Mikey slouched lower in his chair, hating Frank. "It's for charity."

"The Tar Pits are not a fucking charity."

"It's a nonprofit!"

"I don't care. Write your own blog posts." Frank stood up and knocked his knuckles against the top of Mikey's head. "Running has been very good for your legs, by the way. Nice calves."

"You can't just give me compliments and then not make my blog post for me, Frank."

"Oh, but watch me." Frank sauntered out the door and Mikey groaned, putting his head down on the table.

"They will show up at the finish line," he mumbled at the woodgrain. Which was potentially true. They very well might. But they would also kick some money to the Tar Pits work, which would make Alicia happy. And Alicia deserved some happy after four months of popping his blisters and taping his shin splints.

Yeah, the blister work definitely deserved a sacrifice on his part. He sat up and pulled his laptop over to him, logged in--his password was always "misfits," thank God, even on his bank account, or there was no way in hell he would be able to get in--and started to type.

 

_**Kerrang!: And how did that work out?** _

_Mikey Way: I hadn't actually planned the video in advance, so it was really awkward._

 

"Hi," Mikey croaked from his chair, weaving side to side as he tried to keep his face in front of the camera. "Gerard, fuck, hold still. Wait. I can't say fuck. Run it back and start over."

"We'll edit it out later. Just talk."

"Hi. I'm Mikey Way."

"They _know_ that, Mikey, Jesus." Frank sighed and shoved a water bottle at him. "Drink this. Use your words."

"Fuck off, Frank. Hi, I'm Mikey Way, and I just finished my first marathon."

"That's twenty-six point two miles," Gerard said loudly. "That's a really fucking long run."

"It was. Yes."

"You know the only reason we know about marathons as a thing is the original guy who ran that distance dropped dead. So, you know. Running marathons is kind of fucking stupid and insane."

"But I just _did_ ," Mikey said loudly, "and I finished, and--"

"And how do you feel right now?" Ray asked, leaning forward next to Gerard so he could get his face on-camera.

"I feel like dog shit, actually, Ray, thanks for asking."

"Stupid and insane," Gerard said again, shaking his head. Mikey groaned and slumped back in his chair. 

"Are we doing this or are we not doing this? Fuck, Gee."

"Okay, okay. Mikey! Tell the kids thanks for raising two and a half thousand dollars for the charity of your choice!"

"Thanks, everybody. It was really sweet and rad of you. MCRmy for life. And stuff. Um. I don't know what else to say."

"Show them your chafed nipples," Frank suggested.

"I wore nipple shields, I'm cool. Oh. There's some advice for you, kids. If you ever run a marathon, use nipple shields."

"That's a perfect ending," Gerard said solemnly, turning the camera to face himself. "My Chemical Romance out."

 

_**Runner's World: What made you decide to go for an ultra?** _

_Mikey Way: Honestly?_

_**Please!** _

_Everyone assuming that once the marathon was over, I'd just be done with running for good. That it was a one-off thing. A fluke. I get kind of contrary sometimes._

 

"Mikey," Alicia said carefully. "That is..."

"Completely out of the question." Gerard made a chopping motion. "No."

"That's a _really_ long way," Alicia said firmly, shooting Gerard a look. "It would be really hard on your body. The marathon was hard enough."

"You peed blood," Gerard said. "Your toenails fell off."

"Not all of them," Mikey muttered. They were starting to grow back, too. Return of the eagle talons.

"It was _disgusting_ ," Gerard went on, pointing at him.

"And you didn't even have to sleep with it." Alicia ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. "Babe, are you sure? A hundred miles. That's...intense."

"There are training programs. There's a whole community. People do this. I can do this."

"Training will be your full-time job," Alicia said. "Your long-run days already were pretty much blocked off on the other schedule. I don't think you can fit recording in around this."

"So we'll finish recording before I get to the hardcore stage of training." Mikey shrugged and jutted his chin at Gerard. "We're already making good progress, right? We just need to, like, actually wrap it up instead of going off on a tangent."

"Tangents are where the art lives, though," Gerard said.

"Your face is where the art lives." Mikey sighed and stood up, bumping his fist against Gerard's shoulder and then leaning down to kiss Alicia's forehead. "I want to do this. I'm going to do this. I would appreciate your support."

"Mikey--" Gerard started, but Alicia shook her head and elbowed him again.

"It's time to be supportive now, Geezy," she told him in the voice she used for Piglet on a stubborn day. "Tell your brother you love him and you're proud of how terrifying and dedicated he is."

"He's going to have legs like a T. Rex," Gerard said. "Are you looking forward to going to bed with _that_?"

"Yeah, actually." Alicia smiled, her eyes half-lidded. "You have no idea what the stamina is like."

"So I was thinking," Mikey said, raising his voice over Gerard's yelp of horror. "I was thinking I'd make this one a whole charity _thing_. Instead of just tacking it on at the end last-minute."

Gerard's brow furrowed. "What kind of whole charity thing? I can help. I'm good at--"

Mikey shrugged. "I haven't worked out the details yet. Give me a little time."

 

_**MTV.com: So tell us more about this charity setup you've got going. You've brought in a lot of your friends from other bands to help fundraise, is that right?** _

_Mikey Way: Yeah, the response has been amazing. I'm giving 100% of what's donated to Sweet Relief, which is this great organization that helps provide money to career musicians who don't have insurance. Healing musicians in need, that's their slogan. They're great, and it's obviously a cause that resonates with a lot of musicians._

_**Who are some of the names we might recognize who are helping you out?** _

_A bunch of old friends from the Jersey scene are helping out. The guys from Thursday, and Alkaline Trio. Murder By Death sent a nice check and did a signal boost. Gabe Saporta and Pete Wentz, they're friends of mine, they offered to be my road crew for this one, as well as boosting and donating. Gabe's band kicked in an extra $5000 if I did all my training to a Cobra Starship mix on my iPod._

_**Wow. That must have been different for you.** _

_It's great running music, actually. Good beat. Uptempo. I just pretended Gabe was chasing me a lot._

 

"You do know that Wentz and Saporta only volunteered to get attention for themselves, right?" Gerard pushed his glasses higher on his nose and studied the printout Mikey had placed in front of him. "I mean, I don't expect them to actually be helpful in the van."

"They'll spell you when you need a break from driving. And they're entirely capable of putting out drop bags and picking me up if I pass out."

Frank made a face and clicked at his laptop. "Don't pass out."

"I'll do my best."

"Don't joke about passing out. It makes me worry. You don't want to give me agita, do you?"

"You're like six hundred years old." Mikey sighed and dropped onto the couch next to Gerard. "Are you sure you want to drive the van? You don't have to drive the van."

"We've been over this a million times. I don't trust anyone else to drive your van."

"Now that's love," Frank muttered. He squinted at the screen again, then sucked air sharply through his teeth. "Oh, _hell_ no."

"What?" Mikey sat up, reaching blindly for the laptop. "Did Paypal shut me down? Motherfucking Paypal. Shit. Can we sic the kids on them?"

"Paypal didn't do anything." Frank flipped the laptop off with both hands. "You won't _believe_ this."

"What? Did someone steal all of the money? What?"

"It's not the fucking money." Frank swung his feet up onto the table and contorted his body into a complicated knot of middle fingers and rage. "Fucking _Pedicone_ just fucking donated two hundred dollars."

Gerard whistled softly. Mikey blinked. "For real?"

"Yes, for fucking real. That asshole. How do I reject a payment?"

"You can't reject the payment."

"Of course I fucking can, there has to be a button. Do you think it just refuses it, or can I include a 'go fuck yourself' message?"

"It's money to a good cause, Frank. You can't reject it just because you don't like him."

"I don't not like him. I hate him. I want to piss on his face and dance on his disemboweled corpse."

"Kinky," Gerard whispered, and Mikey elbowed him in the ribs, because Frank in this mood was not going to take it gracefully if Mikey started laughing.

"Don't reject the money, Frank."

"This won't end well," Frank said, hitting the keys a lot harder than necessary. Mikey sighed and put his head on Gerard's shoulders, slowly rolling his ankles clockwise. Fifteen times, then switch direction. Helped keep things working nice and smooth.

"Two hundred dollars," Gerard said thoughtfully, resting his cheek on Mikey's hair and scribbling a note at the bottom of his supply list. "Wonder who he stole it from."

Frank howled in rage and Mikey closed his eyes. The rest of the afternoon was going to be a wash until he went out for his twenty miler.

 

_**Runner's World: What's your pre-race ritual?** _

_Mikey Way: Well, I'm new at this, you know. This is my first ultra and only my second competitive race...thing. So I have no idea if I'm doing it right or not. I did a lot of reading, but I might still be breaking all kinds of rules._

_**Duly noted.** _

_The night before, I'm going to drink plenty of water, watch_ Sharktopus _, and go to bed early._

_**Oh.** _

_Is that wrong?_

_**It's...unorthodox.** _

_Probably also a quiet dinner with my wife. Then the morning of, my brother will pick me up in the support van and we'll get out there to do it._

 

"You can still pull out, dude," Gabe said, standing with his hands on his hips surveying the start area. "That's what she said."

"You can't that's-what-she-said yourself." Pete shook his head and crawled back into the van. "Dick."

"Blow me. Can too. Look at those guys, Mikey." Gabe tugged his sunglasses down so he could stare over the rims in the pale early-morning light. "They're, like. Dessicated corpses of human beings. You don't want to do this."

"They're hardcore runners, man." Mikey bumped Gabe's shoulder with his own and accepted the bottle of water Pete held out. "Soon I'll be that leathery and withered."

Gabe shuddered. "Don't even joke about that. Look at that dude's legs. I think he could kill me with his thighs."

"You're into that, though." Pete stuck his head out of the van again. "Mikey, where are your nipple shields?"

"I already have them on," Mikey said with dignity, ignoring Gabe's laughter. "Thank you, though."

"Cool. Gabe, you've gotta put the bike on the rack, I told you."

"I'm not putting it on the rack. If I put it back there it'll get dusty." 

Mikey closed his eyes as Gabe moved off to bicker with Pete up close and personal. He took deep breaths, holding the achingly dry desert air in his lungs, and wondered if the next 24 hours were going to involve his dehydrated corpse being picked at by vultures.

"Here's your mileage chip." Gerard knelt to attach the chip to Mikey's shoelaces. "We're going to be as close behind you as we can be the whole time."

"I know, Gee."

"What's the signal for you wanting one of us to get out and run with you for a while?"

"I'll stop and wave my arms until you bring the van up, then I'll ask one of you to get out and run with me."

Gerard glared up at him over his sunglasses. Those were new. Mikey wasn't totally sure they weren't Gucci. He was going to need to make fun of Gerard for that later. "And if we're up ahead of you setting a drop bag? What will you do then?"

"Stop until you come back, _then_ wave my arms?"

"Mikey!"

"Gerard. It will be okay." Mikey took a deep breath and walked in a circle, reminding himself to keep his legs loose and his breath moving. Fuck fuck fuck. "I can do this."

"You can."

"One hundred miles."

"You totally can."

"I can't. I'm gonna throw up. Forget this, let's go home."

Gerard grabbed him by the shoulders. "Mikey. You can do this. I'm so proud of you I could shit myself, and I'm going to be ten times prouder when you finish. When. Not if. Because you're gonna do it."

Mikey looked into his eyes for a moment, then nodded and let Gerard pull him into a hug. He cleared his throat roughly and muttered in Gerard's ear. "Please don't shit yourself."

"Shut up."

"The van is a rental."

"Shut _up_."

Mikey pulled back, wiped his eyes, saluted, and walked away to the starting area.

This was it.

 

_Hi, friends and fans--_

_Yep, it's me again. Mikey. Two blog posts in one year! I just had to write in person to thank you for your incredible outpouring of support for Sweet Relief. And for me, running my first ultra. Your support for that blew me away and kept me on my feet for the whole hundred miles. Your support for Sweet Relief is going to help a lot of musicians in need. You guys are awesome and I don't have the words for what it means. I'll tell G to write a song about it for album #6._

_A lot of you wanted to know what the hardest part of an ultramarathon is. Well, now I can tell you that it's everything between miles 2 and mile 99. The first and last miles are easy. Everything else is the worst. Now you know!_

_Thanks again for everything, and we'll be back with more news for you soon, with any luck..._

_\--Marathon Mikey Way_

 

"C'mon, Mikey." Pete's voice was steady, his breath as even as his footsteps, and _fuck_ him anyway. He'd run a grand total of ten miles all day to this point. Mikey was coming up on mile ninety-five and ready for death.

"C'mon, Mikey Way." Pete turned around and jogged _backwards_ , the prick. Mikey was barely moving at a shuffle, at this point, but that didn't make it okay for Pete to fucking rub it in. "You can do this. Just about five miles left. That's not even a warmup for you. You're the most badass in the biz."

"I hate you," Mikey whispered at the ground. 

"I heard that." Pete bounced on his toes and then darted forward, jogging a loose circle around Mikey. "You can do this. You are the stone-cold love child of The Rock and Boba Fett."

Mikey lifted his head and glared at him. "That doesn't make any sense."

"There we go. Got a reaction. Knew you were still alive in there." Pete glanced back over Mikey's shoulder, squinting against the van's headlights, and Mikey assumed he was having some kind of intense eye contact with Gerard. He was too tired to turn his head and look.

"Time for a walking break?" Pete asked, and Mikey nodded, dropping from his shuffle to...a more walking-rhythmed shuffle. He'd been doing pretty good at alternating his walking and running through the day, hit all of his food and drink breaks, passed all of Gerard's insistent medical spot-checks at the aid stations. And he still wanted to die. Fuck this entire idea and everyone who had encouraged him at it.

Pete walked beside him, hand darting out to touch Mikey's arm every so often like he was making sure he was still there. Mikey offered him a shred of a smile, but they didn't talk. There was nothing to say out here, at this point.

"Okay, Mikey Way," came Gabe's voice from behind them after a while. "Five miles left on the nose."

Mikey wanted to ask him if he was going to make the 24-hour time limit, but that probably involved doing mental math, and if he did math right now, even just spot-checking Gabe's math, he would actually lie down on the path and wait for death.

"Mikey!" Gerard called from the van. "You're due for a caffeine boost. Red Bull time!"

Mikey redirected his shuffling back toward the van. Gerard handed the can out the window, ruffled Mikey's hair gently, and put his hand over Mikey's pulse while he drank. "You're doing so good, man. So proud of you."

"Please run me over with the van," Mikey said, sucking the liquid between his teeth and shuddering as the caffeine went through his exhausted body. Fuck. Good stuff.

"I love you." Gerard leaned out the window and kissed his forehead. "Go finish this."

Mikey nodded and handed the empty can back, then turned to face down the path. Pete waited for him to catch up and then fell into stride with him again, walking in silence. Mikey vaguely noticed that sunlight was threatening at the horizon. 

"Let's pick it up again, Mikey," Pete said softly. "You can do it."

Mikey took a breath and nodded. He really had no idea if he could do this or not, but Gerard was flashing the high beams on the van, which probably meant he was cheering him on.

"Mikey fucking Way," Gabe called. Mikey was going to murder him as soon as he crossed the finish line. "Mikey motherfucker Way, we've got a special mix to bring you in."

"I don't want a special mix," Mikey told Pete, picking up his shuffle again. "I want to die."

"Yeah, I don't know, Gerard and Frank and Gabe put it together as a group project. I wouldn't trust it." Pete matched his stride. "But you can think about how much you hate them to get you over the line."

The first song that came blaring out of the van was "Back in Black." Followed by the Bon Jovi cover of "Life Is A Highway" and the theme from _The Smurfs_. Mikey sincerely did hate them.

The special mix ran out before he got to the last mile. When he hit that marker, sobbing under his breath, for some reason the music coming from the van was fucking "Professional Griefers."

"C'mon, Mikey," Pete crooned, jogging backwards in front of him again. "Your big brother's voice."

"Fuck you." Mikey wiped his eyes on his sleeve and kept going. He knew the last half-mile was a straight shot on flat ground. When he saw the finish area, it wouldn't be a tease.

"C'mon. I like the sound of the broken pieces..."

Pete's singing voice was terrible, especially trying to blend with Gerard's on the speakers. Mikey hated absolutely everything on earth. But the rhythm of the song crept under his skin and he found himself unwittingly, unwillingly, falling into step with it.

"Morning sickness, XYZ, teenage girls with ESP..."

Mikey was watching his own feet so hard he actually missed crossing the finish line. But Alicia and Ray caught him before he crashed into the med tent, so it was okay.

 

_frankiero: @mikeyway's suicide-run celebration party was a rager! wish you all were there! xoxo_

 

Mikey took another drink of water and closed his eyes. "Gerard, if you try to check my blood pressure one more time, I will kill you."

"Not nice," Bandit whispered. Mikey opened his eyes a crack and made an apologetic face at her. She leaned in and hugged him carefully. Lindsey had told her that Mikey needed to be treated gently today. She apparently took that to mean he was actively dying on the couch. Which he wasn't; he just wasn't going to be going anywhere for a while unless he absolutely had to. Like, if the building was on fire. Then he might.

"So, Mikey Way, how do your legs feel?" Gabe leaned in over top of Bandit, holding his fist in Mikey's face like an imaginary microphone. Mikey stuck his tongue out at him, then sucked it back between his lips before B could tell him that wasn't nice either.

"My legs feel like Jello," he said as pleasantly as he could manage. "I really hope you're going to massage them instead of standing there fu--messing with me."

"That's your wife's job, dude. I'm here for the color commentary and comic relief."

Alicia made a face at him, then pulled Mikey's legs into her lap and started rubbing the muscles slowly. "How much did you donate, again?"

Gabe put his hand over his heart. "Lots."

"Then you can stay." Mikey closed his eyes again and sighed. "I can't believe it's over."

"I can't believe you lived." Ray perched on the arm of the couch and petted Mikey's hair. "So, now that you're done with being a crazy person, what's next?"

"I'm not done being a crazy person. Crazy is for life."

Ray rapped his knuckles on top of Mikey's head sharply. "You know what I mean."

Mikey ducked and squirmed, opening his eyes to grin. All of his friends and family were standing around his couch, smiling back at him. It was fucking epic. If he could stand up, he would hug them all, one at a time and then together.

"I do know what you mean," he said, letting his eyes move from face to face, making eye contact with each of them. "Which is why I promise I'm taking ultras off the table for the next little while. Until after the next tour at least."

"Oh thank _god_ ," Gerard sighed, slumping against the back of the couch as theatrically as possible.

Mikey waited for the giggles to die down before he raised his hand. "But regular marathons are going to be a fucking walk in the park now. And there's one in Hawaii in three months. Any of you guys want to train with me? It could be a thing. A band activity. Bonding or--"

They didn't let him finish, but that was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Sweet Relief is a real organization! Check them out if you're interested in their work.
> 
> If you're actually considering running an ultramarathon, you should run more than one regular marathon first. Nothing here should be considered training advice.
> 
> Picture Mikey Way in little running shorts. Just picture it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Get Up And Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/989792) by [argentumlupine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentumlupine/pseuds/argentumlupine), [dapatty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty)




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